Darkness Falls
by poisongirll
Summary: Dean and Castiel are in Purgatory. What challenges, horrors, and surprises await them? Spoilers for 7x23. Dean/Castiel friendship progressing to slash.
1. Limbo Land

A/N: This is a multi-chaptered fic that I'm planning on working on along with some others I have going. As such, I'm aiming to update about once a week. I didn't mean to write this but I'm just so damn impatient for season eight, and I haven't found many Purgatory fics, so I just had to! Set immediately following the final scene in 'Survival of the Fittest'.There won't be any Sam, at least in the earlier chapters, as it focuses on Dean and Castiel in Purgatory. Title gratuitously stolen from an episode of The X-Files of the same name. Hope you enjoy it :) Please drop me a comment with your thoughts because I love love LOVE reviews!

* * *

The shadowy figures lurk between the jagged trees, growing disturbingly close to the lone stranger in their midst. Dean spins around wildly, eyes frantically scanning the dark shapes for any sign of Castiel. He calls for him again in hushed tones and pulls his knife out of his back pocket, knowing full well that it will be a useless defense against the things that stalk him in the darkness. Though his body is poised for a fight, the knowledge means that his mind threatens to shut down in its rapid hurtle towards full-blown panic. This cannot be happening, Dean thinks desperately. It has to be some kind of nightmare, like the ones he became so acquainted with following his time in Hell. One of the shadows advances towards him with a low susurrus of a growl that is almost enough to send a shiver down his spine. And then he sees the creature responsible for the terrible noise. Standing as tall as the blackened trees surrounding it, it is unfathomably mammoth, almost but not quite blending into the solid wall of black around it.

Its inhuman, terrifying, unlike anything he's ever seen before, and in that instant Dean is sure that this is the end. But suddenly Castiel is in front of him, face tense with fear, bright eyes boring into Dean's, hand reaching for his forehead in a blessedly familiar gesture. Then they are somewhere else altogether, somewhere almost as dark but with distinctly fewer growls, Dean notes with relief as he takes a quick scan of his new surroundings. Castiel is at his side but quickly moves away, patrolling the parameter of the cave and murmuring under his breath in a language Dean doesn't regognise. Dean's eyes scan the area as he struggles to catch his breath, knife still drawn, searching meticulously for any sign of a threat. Finally, he finds his voice again.

"What the hell was that thing?" he asks, his breathless voice giving away more than he wants it to.

Castiel turns away from the task at hand, meeting Dean's gaze.

"It doesn't have a name," he explains in his low growl. "It is just one of the many manifestations of tortured souls in purgatory."

Dean lets out a nervous laugh and stares at the ground for a moment.

"Well that's just fantastic isn't it?" he says so quietly that it's almost to himself.

Castiel goes back to his pacing and whispered words, and Dean looks up and watches him closely for a few moments.

"What are you doing?"

"Ancient Enochian protection spell. I'm not sure how effective it will be here, but it's better than nothing," Castiel explains without looking up, and Dean nods his approval before going back to his own assessment of their makeshift fortress. They appear to be in some kind of wide mouthed rocky cave and though it feels significantly safer than his previous surroundings, Dean doesn't like the look of the shadowy trees beyond the entrance.

"You know, for a minute I thought you'd left me out there," he admits in a strained voice, still slightly out of breath.

Castiel stops his search and turns to face the hunter, as though he'd forgotten here was there until he spoke.

"I would never do that," he replies sincerely, fixing Dean with an intense blue stare.

Unspoken thoughts pass between them until Dean finally breaks the gaze and clears his throat.

"So where are we anyway?"

"Somewhere near the western border of Purgatory, though I can't determine exactly where. I took an aerial scan of the area before I brought you here, to make sure it was safe. We'll have to lay low here until morning."

"Morning?" Dean questions incredulously, "You mean there's day and night here?"

"Yes. They're not sunrises and sets, as such, but there are times when it's lighter and therefore less dangerous. It's not like Hell here, Dean, it's—" he pauses, apparently searching for the right description "—more structured, in a way. There's geography, a sense of time, and even seasons. It's coming into winter now."

Dean shivers slightly at Castiel's words, only now properly acknowledging how cold he is.

"We should build a fire before you freeze," the angel states, noting Dean's shiver and the way his breath crystalises in the frigid air. "Wait here, I'll find materials we can burn".

Before Dean has a chance to reply Castiel is gone, reappearing a few seconds later with an armful of jagged looking wood, which he dumps unceremoniously at Dean's feet.

"You'll have to build it. I've never had the need for a camp fire before," Castiel explains, gesturing to the pile of wood.

Dean grins with the confidence of someone who has made a fire more times than he can count, and gets to work.

* * *

A short while later he and Castiel sit around a roaring fire, Dean warming his numb hands over the flames gratefully.

"What about you then?" Dean says, looking up at Castiel who sits beside him.

Castiel looks at him questioningly, head tilted to the side in an all too familiar gesture that Dean doesn't even realised he'd missed until now.

"I mean are you..._you _again?"

Castiel nods thoughtfully, stoking the fire gently with one of the longer sticks.

"I believe so, though I'm afraid I cannot offer you an explanation as to how or why. Perhaps it was the violent act of killing Dick Roman that brought me back to my senses, so to speak. But I do appear to be back in possession of my mental facilities, and I..." he pauses, lost in thought, "I'm more aware of everything that happened before...everything I did."

He stares into the flames, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. Dean shifts in his seat, knowing exactly what Castiel is referring to but really not wanting to talk about it, especially not now. He clears his throat and unsubtly changes the subject.

"So how do we get the hell out of here? I'm assuming you can't just mojo us out or we'd be gone by now."

"I'm afraid that is correct," Castiel confirms darkly. "In Purgatory my powers are weakened and, whilst they are strong enough to transport us within it's bounds, I am unable to remove us from it. We need an existing doorway between here and Earth. Creating one out of nothing is much more powerful magic than I have access to here."

Dean heaves a sigh.

"Well that's not good news."

"No," Castiel agrees. "But it's not entirely hopeless."

He picks up a small stick and starts drawing a series of lines in the dirt, and Dean moves closer to watch.

"These are the bounds of purgatory," Castiel explains, pointing to the large shape he has drawn in the ground. "The boundaries have several gates, here..." he marks a spot in the dirt, "here," he marks another, "and here. But they're treacherous, guarded by Purgatory's most powerful creatures and weapons...swarming with Leviathan and other monsters. The two of us would stand little chance against them."

Dean looks both baffled and disturbed at his words.

"I'm not hearing the good news, Cas."

Castiel looks up at him, and Dean is briefly struck by the seriousness in those eyes and how glad he is to have it back. It makes him feel strangely reassured and safe, which seems crazy all things considered.

"There is one other way," Castiel says quietly. "There is a rumoured secret portal that I may be able to open from the inside...but I hesitate to trust the source."

"Why, who was the source?" Dean questions.

"Crowley," Castiel says, practically growling the name.

Dean lets out a snort of laughter at the irony and runs a hand through his hair.

"Well given his role in us winding up here, you'll forgive me for not jumping right on _that_ band wagon."

"I know," Castiel replies with a sigh. "But this is the closest thing we have to a plan."

Dean stares at the ground for a long moment, deep in thought.

"It's just that...it all sounds pretty uncertain, Cas," he finally says. "I mean, we're tracking down a portal we don't even know exists, and when and_ if_ we make it there alive you may not even be able to open it."

"I'm aware that it's a flawed plan," Castiel replies, a note of irritation in his voice. "But we don't have many options. We can't use the other gates and we can't run the risk of waiting for a portal to be opened from the outside."

Dean shakes his head.

"There's gotta be another option. Sammy will find a way to get us out of here. We go out there, we get ripped to shreds, you said it yourself!"

He pushes down the spike of worry in his gut when he mentions Sam's name. He knows that if he's going to get out of here alive he needs to keep his head straight— and the sooner he can escape, the sooner he can help his brother. He forces his attention back to Castiel.

"There _is_ no other option. If we stay in here something is bound to find us eventually. And even if Sam could open a portal and could somehow communicate with us, we would still have to get to it. Trust me, Dean, this is the only way."

The pair fall into silence, Dean glowering at the fire but not bothering to argue. He's tired and cold, and if he's forced to admit it, he's also damn well scared. Trust me, Castiel had said. If only it were as simple as that. Of course, he had trusted Castiel once. He'd become one of the very few people he _could_ trust, but he'd betrayed them and now...how can Dean trust him again? But on the other hand, what choice does he have?

Castiel seems to sense Dean's exhaustion and confusion, and his rigid expression softens slightly.

"I'm sorry that this has happened, that you've had to come here. It is not a place I ever wished you to see. But I promise you that I will get you out of here alive...or die trying."

Dean just stares for a moment, letting the words sink in, then he smirks.

"Don't die again, Cas. It's getting old."

"You're one to talk," Castiel shoots back so quickly that Dean snaps his head up to glare at him. But the angel's eyes are playful, or as close to it as they ever really get, and there's a hint of a smile playing around his mouth. Dean huffs out a laugh and Castiel allows himself a proper smile. Dean tries to ignore the fact that he feels oddly warmed by it. But all too quickly, Castiel is back to business.

"Get some sleep," he says firmly. "I'll keep watch."

Dean starts to protest, but Castiel abruptly cuts him off.

"I mean it, Dean. We have a dangerous mission tomorrow and you're no good to me sleep deprived."

Dean raises his eyebrows at the angel's bluntness, but is secretly rather pleased at the return of the no-nonsense tone that he hadn't heard in so long. It is one that he is too tired to argue with, so finally he nods and lies back against the hard ground, closing his eyes tightly and hoping that sleep will claim him quickly. If it doesn't he knows he will lie here all night, thinking and obsessing, trying (and failing) not to worry about Sam, who he is all too aware is now _completely_ alone in a world full of demons and desperate Leviathan. After an indeterminate amount of time, Dean senses Castiel's presence beside him and cracks one eye open to peer up at him.

"Here," Castiel says quietly, shucking off his trench coat and offering it to Dean.

When Dean makes no move to take it, Castiel rolls his eyes.

"I don't require the warmth, and it will make you more comfortable."

Dean's expression softens at the gesture and he reaches up to claim the coat, though he feels inexplicably strange about it. He rolls onto his side and spreads it over himself, trying to find a more comfortable position.

"Thanks," he mutters, closing his heavy eyes. "And Cas?"

"Yes, Dean?"

"It's good to have you back."

Sleep claims him before he hears Castiel's response.


	2. Creatures Great and Small

Dean wakes with a start to a horrible keening wail, and his body automatically jumps to its feet before his brain has time to process what's happening. Castiel seems to have pinned _something_ against the rough wall of the cave, and it struggles violently against the angel's strength. Dean is fleetingly but immensely grateful for the fact that Castiel's powers have remained relatively intact in Purgatory before he jumps into the melee, pulling his knife as he does. Only now can he see the creature responsible for the awful noise...it's a Rugaru. After a brief pause at just how surreal that is, Dean notices that Castiel has already given the creature a non-fatal wound and looks down to see that his weapon of choice is jagged piece of wood that he's sharpened into a point. Perhaps his powers are a little more diminished than Dean had thought. Castiel glances at Dean quickly and aims another blow at the creature and Dean is just about to plunge his knife through it's heart when he comes to a sudden realization that this isn't just any Rugaru. He's killed this monster before. His mind flashes back to the case that he and Sam had worked years before when Sam had been convinced that the victim, Jack Montgomery, wouldn't give in to his urges and could remain human and good. It had been hopeful and naive of him, but it was based on the same touching benefit of the doubt that his brother used to give everyone. It was part of who Sam was and something within Dean mourns the loss of that innocence, that belief that there was good within everyone.

The memory only causes Dean to hesitate for a millisecond but it's still too long, and before he knows it the monster has hurled him across the cavern with impressive strength considering it's injury.

"Dean!" he hears Castiel yell just before he hits the wall of the cave and his vision explodes into a galaxy of tiny stars.

Then he can see and hear the fight go on without him, unable to pull himself to his feet, barely able to hold onto consciousness. But thankfully it doesn't last long, and his insides flood with relief when Castiel raises a hand to the Rugaru's head and uses his energy to set it ablaze. The creature roars and flails grotesquely before finally disintegrating into nothingness. The angel stands perfectly still for a fraction of a moment, recovering from the exertion, before running to Dean and kneeling in front of him, hands urgently cupping Dean's face.

"Dean! Are you okay?" he asks in a hoarse voice, his hands now carefully searching Dean's head for injury.

He lifts Dean's chin insistently and Dean groggily glances up and meets Castiel's eyes, which are so filled with concern that Dean briefly wonders if he's miscalculated the severity of his injury. But then the hunter seems to come back to his senses, the fog surrounding his brain lifting, and he goes to climb to his feet. Castiel holds Dean's arm to steady him as he stands, still watching him closely.

"'m fine, Cas. Just a bump to the head."

Castiel's face relaxes slightly with relief, but he's clearly not entirely convinced.

"Good. We have to get out of here," he mutters, gently tugging on Dean's arm. "There will be more."

Castiel scans the cave one last time, picking up his abandoned trench coat and pulling it back on, and extinguishing the now more subdued fire with a click of his fingers. Then he turns to Dean.

"Ready?"

Dean just nods, still rather dazed, and Castiel reaches out to him. They disappear just after Dean catches a final glimpse of the mouth of the cave, which is steadily being infiltrated by more creeping shadows.

The next time Dean blinks the setting is different once again. They're still in the dark but as Dean's eyes begin to adjust he can tell that its less dense than it was when he went to sleep. He briefly wonders how long he slept for. It certainly doesn't feel like long. He realises that he didn't ask Castiel how long an average night was in Purgatory, or any number of questions he wants to know the answer to, but there always seems to be more pressing matters. Dean looks around him. They're not in a cave this time, but against a rocky cliff with a small clearing in front of it before giving way to yet another forest of blackened trees. He stands close to Castiel, both of them on edge and searching the darkness for sign of threat. When they're both satisfied that Castiel has transported them to a place of relative safety, Dean lets out a deep breath and turns to the angel.

"Where are we now?"

"We're a little further West. I'm having trouble pinpointing our precise location because I'm unfamiliar with the exact geography of Purgatory. But I do know that we're closer to our target, if it exists that is."

"So what's the plan? We search for it and hope that we don't get made into breakfast by one of the Munsters?"

Castiel considers him for a moment with the slight tilt of the head that means he doesn't understand the reference, then apparently decides to ignore it, as he often does.

"Unfortunately that is the plan," he confirms darkly. "But like I said, we shouldn't be far away. If we stay together we will be okay."

Dean knows that his words are just empty comfort but he finds himself appreciative of the reassurance nonetheless. Purgatory seriously gives him the creeps. It's not just the monsters and growls and shadows, nor the darkness and harsh terrain. There's an intangible yet deep sense of foreboding that settled over him the moment he arrived here and hasn't budged an inch ever since. Its a smothering, all-encompassing feeling of despair that is both unlike anything he's ever experienced before and at the same time painfully familiar. He supposes that it's part of what makes Purgatory...well...Purgatory. He doesn't want to say anything to Castiel, but the experience with the Rugaru has unnerved him more than he cares to admit. The repetitive action of facing a creature he and Sam have already killed is making him feel even more like this whole experience is one long, very vivid, nightmare. He rubs a hand over his face.

"Are you sure you're okay, Dean?"

Dean looks up at the sound of Castiel's voice, once again surprised by the gentle tone.

Was this really the same angel that had betrayed him so badly, hurt him more than he would ever admit to a living soul, including himself? He is so much like the old Castiel that Dean almost finds himself questioning whether any of it had really happened at all. Except that it had. He has the memories to prove it, the hardened heart, the damaged soul. He pulls himself away from the thoughts.

"What? Oh, uh, yeah...I'm fine," he murmurs. "It's just a little surreal to gank a monster Sammy and I have already killed."

Castiel gives him a questioning look, so Dean explains in a tone that is as casual as he can possibly muster. He knows that Castiel can see past his nonchalant attitude and knows how spooked Dean really is, but Dean doesn't give him a chance to protest.

"So should we get going or what?"

Castiel looks around again, evaluating the situation.

"It will be light soon. I think we should lay low until then. Daylight doesn't last for long here, so we will have to work quickly."

Dean shivers in the frigid air, but he knows that they're too exposed now to risk lighting a fire. At least the temperature is increasingly slightly as the light seeps between the trees. Dean sighs and slumps against the rocky wall of the cliff behind them. Castiel considers him for a moment then leans against the wall next to him, watching him. The air between them is so thick with unspoken words that Dean has the sudden urge to say something.

"You know, Cas, I don't think I thanked you properly for everything you've done since we got here. If I have to be here, I'm really glad it's with you," he blurts out before he can stop himself, only half looking at the angel.

Castiel smiles at him for a moment, then something seems to dawn on him and his expression darkens to a frown.

"I'm not worthy of your gratitude, Dean...not after everything I've done," he scowls, looking at the ground.

Dean looks properly at Castiel for a long moment, watching as a series of emotions flicker in his eyes. He's not sure that there's any point in discussing the long, complicated history between them. But he can't help but be slightly taken aback when those eyes shift their attention to his own. Castiel's expression has softened in a way that Dean has come to associate with uncomfortable, chick-flick conversations.

"I know I've said it before, but I'm sorry about the things I did. I wish I could take them back," Castiel continues quietly.

Dean sighs, resigned to the fact that Castiel isn't going to let him keep avoiding the topic.

"Hey, let's not worry about that just now, okay? We've got bigger issues to worry about right?" he replies in what he hopes is a casual tone, desperately wishing that he had a drink. He suddenly he remembers the silver flask full of whiskey that he always carries around with him and fishes it from his jacket pocket eagerly, wondering why it didn't occur to him earlier. He unscrews the lid and takes a swig of the amber liquid within, feeling Castiel's eyes upon him.

"What? Its cold, okay?" he says defensively, then offers the flask to Castiel who, to his surprise, accepts it and takes a drink before handing it back.

Castiel says nothing but looks so wretched at that moment that Dean can't help but speak again.

"Don't you think you're being a little hard on yourself, man? I mean, you've done plenty of good things too. And everyone makes mistakes..." He pauses, then laughs humourlessly. "Hey, I've sure as hell made enough of them."

Castiel looks at Dean with a strange expression, as if not quite believing his words. Finally, he gives a tiny nod of acceptance and turns his attention back to the trees that are gradually growing lighter around them. Neither of them speak for a long while, and they share sips from Dean's flask and apprehensively hope that nothing comes to hunt them, until daylight finally creeps amongst their midst. Though there is no identifiable source of the light, Dean is still grateful for it. The night has felt like one of the longest one's he's ever known, and in actuality it probably is. It dawns on him that he should be hungry and he asks Castiel about it, who explains that whilst his body is physically here and can feel certain sensations, eating and drinking is not necessary. Just like in Hell, Dean silently adds.

As the pair starts walking cautiously through the dense vegetation, Dean tries to remind himself that he is a hunter—always has been—and that he can handle anything he comes up against. But really he knows that he is in way over his head here, that Purgatory scares him, that it reminds him of Hell in a way that he'd never wanted to think about again...

"Dean."

Castiel's voice pulls Dean from his thoughts. He's is gesturing for Dean to follow him in a different direction, and Dean doesn't have much choice but to follow the angel's instinct without question. They walk on in silence, keeping within easy reach of one another, both feeling distinctly uneasy at the lack of objectives on their path. Dean can tell that Castiel is nervous but is doing his best not to show it. He's on edge, the remaining threads of his grace stretched out as far as they can, searching for any shred of the portal they're looking for. His concentration is so intense that Dean dares not interrupt him and he wishes, not for the first time, that he possessed just some of Castiel's amazing power. After what feels like an eternity of walking, they reach a clearing in the trees and the sight that greets them is almost beautiful. Framed by the tall, spiky trees native to Purgatory is a huge, dark lake. They approach the lake's surface and start to weave their way around the line of trees that borders it closely. The reflected surface is smooth, eerily perfect, sublimely beautiful. Dean stares at it, loosing himself, wondering how far down it goes and what wonders lies beneath within its inky depths. He's distantly aware of the fact that as he stares Castiel walks ahead, his attention apparently caught by something in the near distance. Dean finds that he neither knows nor cares what the source of the angel's interest is.

There is something magical and intriguing about this lake—some rare beauty that the darkness and harshness of Purgatory has left him craving more than he'd ever thought possible. He stands frozen, entranced, balanced precariously on the lake's edge. He tries to pull his attention away— to turn and follow Castiel as he knows he should—but something in the liquid reflection catches his eye and he's helpless once more. He drops to his knees on the lake's edge, fascinated by the glimpse of amber he's willing to swear on his brother's life he'd seen glimmering just beneath the dark surface. For a moment there is nothing but dense velvet blackness...then suddenly there's a flicker of green light that seems to bubble up from within the lake's depths, illuminating the mirrored surface. Dean gradually realises that he's looking at himself reflected...only it's _not_ himself. The man in the lake seems lighter somehow, younger, more pure...untainted with the foulness of this place, of Hell, of Earth and all the things that Dean has done, of everything he's ever hated about himself. Somehow, Dean knows that if he were to only capture this man, make the two of them one, all that goodness would be absorbed. He would be forgiven. He would be free. Finally. He reaches down, the longing becoming too painful to bear. Merely looking is no longer enough...he wants to claim, wants to _be_...

Dean has a fleeting moment of pure bliss before darkness falls around him once more.

* * *

Would LOVE to hear your thoughts and whether I should continue or not. I'm always writing for myself but getting feedback is certainly a big motivator!


	3. Wings of Desire

The next thing Dean knows, he's lying flat on his back, looking up at Castiel's face. He's slightly terrified by the fear he sees there, but his head feels full of cotton wool so he can't dwell on it properly. It's dark again and when he turns his head he realises that they are, once more, in some kind of cave. Somehow though, Dean has no recollection of how they've gotten there. He opens his mouth to speak but suddenly a flood of sensation reaches his fuzzy mind and nothing but a strangled sort of moan comes out. There's an intense pain in his navel but when he tries to sit up to assess the source of it Castiel gently pushes him back down.

"Lie back, Dean," he says calmly, but Dean doesn't miss the note of panic in his voice. "You've been injured. But don't worry, I'm going to to heal you."

It sounds like the angel is telling himself as much as Dean, willing himself to believe the words. Dean is suddenly horribly aware of the fact that Castiel's powers are lacking here, but he somehow manages to have faith that he will be okay. Breathing harshly through the excruciating pain in his gut, Dean realises that he is soaking wet and absolutely freezing.

"'M cold, Cas," he whimpers, reaching out for the angel helplessly.

He knows that he sounds pathetic, but it's dawning on him that he's borderline hypothermic as well as badly injured, and he still has no memory of how or why. He shivers violently.

"I know," Castiel replies quietly, watching him with eyes full of sympathy.

He reaches down and touches the fabric of Dean's soaking wet shirt and the clothes dry instantly.

But before Dean can appreciate the slight relief that the action has provided, Castiel is urgently pulling up his shirt. For a second Dean wonders what the hell Castiel is doing, but quickly realises that he's going to heal him. Then Castiel's palm is against his skin and he feels a pleasant, spreading warmth as his innards knit themselves back together. The relief that flows over him as the agony lessens is nothing short of astounding, but it's short lived as Castiel doubles over, face etched with pain of his own.

"Cas!" Dean yells, forcing himself into a sitting position and grabbing the angel's arm in concern.

But a second later Castiel seems to have recovered from the discomfort.

"I'm okay," he insists, gripping Dean's arm in turn.

The pair consider each other for a moment, both breathing heavily from the intensity of the everything that's just happened. The sharp pain in Dean's gut has dulled to an ache but he's still shaking uncontrollably and a second later Castiel is pulling him into his arms, wrapping himself around the hunter. Dean feels strange about it, feels that he should protest, but instead he's grabbing at Castiel's shirt, desperate to bury himself in the angel's warmth.

"I'm going to wrap my wings around you," he tells Dean quietly. "You're in shock and your body temperature is dangerously low."

"Your wings?" Dean replies dazedly, wondering if he'd misheard. "But I thought humans aren't allowed to see your true form?"

"It will be a physical manifestation of them, so it won't harm you. But they will keep you warm and safe."

Dean finds that the prospect is not an unpleasant one. He's cold and tired and doesn't bother arguing about his need for protection—he's realising more and more with each passing moment in Purgatory that, although he hates to admit it, he most certainly _does_ need it. But before he can dwell on how truly terrifying that is, he's being surrounded by a soft, comforting warmth that he can't help but be drawn to.

Dean had thought about Castiel's wings before, but he'd never been able to arrive at any definite conclusion as to what they would look like. He's amused himself by imagining them as white and fluffy, like the ones so prevalent in pop culture, and how ridiculous that would look on him. He's seen their shadow, but they were always so intangible and..._other_...that Dean could never quite reconcile them in his mind with anything _real_. But whatever he'd been expecting, it certainly wasn't this. The wings are mammoth—their span extending almost the entire width of the cavern—and they're impossibly, beautifully symmetrical. Like their shadowy representation, the wings are dark in colour...but they're more than simply black. They're a dark, inky blue, with an eclipse of silver that Dean isn't even entirely sure is there at all and—despite the countless battles that the angel has fought in, the journeys to Hell and god knows where else—the wings are flawless and unfathomably strong. Each feather is unique as a snowflake, intricately patterned and edged with silver, ranging from huge primary feathers to small, soft covert feathers. The overall effect of their size and structure is nothing short of magnificent, and Dean find himself too overwhelmed to say a damn thing. He wants to tell Castiel that his wings are amazing, ask him what happened before this, what they need to do next, where they are, but he's too exhausted to form the words.

"Cas, I..." he says weakly, wanting to explain himself but finding the words cut off as another tremor rocks through his body.

"Shh, it's okay," Castiel soothes, holding him tightly. "Go to sleep."

Then he's running a hand through Dean's hair with an impossibly light touch, whispering soft words of comfort. Dean presses himself against Castiel, fingers weaving into the fabric of the angel's coat. His eyelids feel impossibly heavy—a sensation that isn't helped by the fact that he finally feels warm for the first time since they'd been pulled into Purgatory. Castiel holds him close and they lie in silence, Dean's trembling slowly subsiding, until the hunter finally gives in and falls asleep in the arms of his protector.

* * *

He wakes an indeterminate time later, still wrapped in the warmth of the angel's arms and wings.

"Feeling better, Dean?" Castiel asks in a low voice, and feels Dean nod against him.

"Much. Thanks."

He turns to face Castiel, the angel's wings creating a velvety cocoon around them.

"What happened?"

"You still don't remember?" Castiel replies without much surprise.

Dean pauses, thinking hard.

"The last thing I remember was a black lake...and then you saving me and freaking out."

He says the last part with a slight smirk.

"I was not _freaking out_," Castiel replies in an offended tone, rising to Dean's bait as always.

"Sure you were, because you can't live without me," he teases.

But this time Castiel doesn't react in his amusing, predictable way. He's silent and staring at Dean like a deer caught in the headlights. Then he's clearing his throat and looking away, and his discomfort is so obvious that its contagious. The close proximity certainly doesn't help matters.

"So, uh, what happened in between that?" Dean questions, trying to ignore the strange tension, the fact that suddenly his heart is beating just that bit faster than usual.

Similarly, Castiel does his best to recover from the moment.

"You were lured into the lake by a Narcissus," he explains darkly.

"Never heard of it," Dean replies.

"I wouldn't have expected you to. Its an ancient creature, almost as old as Purgatory itself. They're particularly dangerous because they use all a persons self doubts and fears against them to present a perfect version of the person to themselves. Some are content with just staring at the reflection until they're attacked by some other monster, others, like yourself, feel the need to immerse themselves in their reflected self. I turned back just in time to see you fall, and I managed to drag you back out just before the Narcissus could claim you."

Dean is confronted with the sudden disturbing image of Castiel pulling him from the murky water. It strongly reminds him of the angel raising him from Hell, though he still has no recollection of that event. The now pale outline of Castiel's hand print tingles slightly on his shoulder, as if in response to his thoughts. He shudders slightly and Castiel runs a hand gently down his spine, soothing him.

"Unfortunately it attacked you as I was doing that," he continues quietly. "It cut you deeply with one of its barbs. I was so afraid that I wouldn't be able to heal you with my limited powers."

Dean looks at him and sees how very true that is—even at the memory of it, Castiel's face is full of fear. Castiel's gaze flicks downwards.

"I managed to transport us here and mostly heal you...but, Dean...it's weakened me."

He seems almost ashamed of the confession and Dean is suddenly flooded with a familiar rush of guilt.

"I'm sorry," Dean says so quietly it's barely more than a whisper.

"It's not your fault," Castiel reassures him firmly, now looking straight into Dean's eyes, his blue orbs glinting in the darkness. "The creature is designed to expose your weaknesses, to draw you in any way it can. There is nothing you could have done."

Dean says nothing for a long moment, reflecting on Castiel's words.

"...And the portal?"

Castiel sighs.

"I could feel from the energy that there was a doorway there...once. But any remaining trace of it has long since been destroyed."

He so sounds exhausted and defeated that Dean hesitates to ask his next question.

"So do we have a new plan?" he asks, and doesn't like the lengthy pause before Castiel's answer.

"Let's talk about that later," he insists gently. "Right now you need more rest...you were badly injured and you're still recovering."

As Castiel speaks he moves his feathers slightly to cover a bare patch of skin on Dean's arm, and Dean adjusts his position slightly to get a better view of the wings.

"Your wings are...pretty cool, Cas," he admits with an almost shy smile.

Castiel smiles back, something within him beaming with pride at Dean's approval of them.

"I'm glad you like them. Angels very rarely show our wings, in any form, to humans. You're the first one to ever see mine."

Dean doesn't respond for a moment.

"Well...I'm honoured," he finally replies.

And as hard as he tries to force his voice to sound casual, Castiel doesn't miss the slice of raw truth in the statement.

"You should get some more rest," he says again. "There are still a few hours until daylight."

"I don't feel tired right now," Dean replies, and before Castiel can acknowledge his words Dean's lips are pressing against his and he'll be damned if it's not the best thing he's ever felt. It's a soft, chaste kiss, and it's over before Castiel really has time to react. Dean's breath ghosts over Castiel, and then he's murmuring something that Castiel is too overwhelmed to really hear. He wants to draw Dean's lips back to his own and explore the sensation that he only got a devastatingly small taste of, but Dean's already settled back against him. He's safe and secure within the folds of Castiel's wings, and Castiel knows he needs to let Dean sleep. The weary hunter's eyes slip shut and soon he is snoring in a reassuring way, oblivious to Castiel's whirlwind of thought. Castiel holds him close as his mind fights to process tonight's events. He couldn't have slept even if he'd needed to.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed the more Destiel direction this chapter goes in- I know it's sappy, but rest assured that this is Purgatory, and it's Dean and Cas, so things won't stay perfect for long. Reviews would make me a happy happy fangirl :-) Apologies for the slightly shorter chapter but this seemed like a good stopping point. The chapter title is borrowed from an angel movie of the same name. The Narcissus is a creature I invented, obviously heavily based on Ovid's myth in _Metamorphoses _(love!). If you're enjoying this fic, please do check out my account for other stuff I've written and/or follow me on tumblr ( .com) for updates.


	4. Silence is Golden

Sorry for the slight delay with this chapter- back at uni and all that! Hope you enjoy it. Would love to know what you thought :)

* * *

When Dean wakes again it's still dark, and he struggles to remember a time when it wasn't. It feels like they've been in Purgatory for weeks. He suspects that it's yet another trick of the place and recalls miserably that in Hell time seemed to stretch on and on, and at the same time pass like it was nothing. He glances at Castiel beside him. The angel's wings are still draped over Dean, but his eyes are closed. Dean doesn't know if he's sleeping— he's never needed to sleep before, aside from his days of growing humanity. But Castiel is weaker here, particularly after his efforts to cure Dean, so maybe he needs it. Dean watches him for a brief moment, a surge of emotion rolling through him. He lets out a quiet snort of laughter at the thought that he now has to deal with his ambiguous sexuality along with everything else. He's always been pretty much only into women. The 'pretty much' covers a couple of very brief, _very_ inebriated encounters with the same sex that never went much further than some groping and making out. He's been attracted to guys before, sure, but he's never been in a relationship with one, never felt an emotional attachment in this way. He tries to ignore the voice in the back of his mind that reminds him that Castiel isn't even a guy. He's an angel, a celestial soldier. He is other.

But Dean has long since accepted that he has a strong attachment to the angel, he'd felt it even before he liked the guy. And that attachment had gradually morphed into affection, then trust...but when had it turned into this? He rubs a hand over his face in frustration. Maybe if he ignores the feelings they will go away. Dean can't forget the things that Castiel has done, no matter how hard he tries. It's there between them all the time, like a shadow on the wall. He knows there's no point in mentioning it—what is there to say?—and that it's something he will hopefully get over with time. His ever-present guilt doesn't help matters either. Even after all this time, Dean can't silence the small but persistent voice in his head that tells him that he had his own role to play in Castiel's betrayal. Maybe if he'd been there more, if he hadn't been so self-involved...

He forces himself away from the thoughts, as he always does. He can't bear the weight of any more guilt. He's also unpleasantly aware that maybe none of this will matter anyway—maybe they won't make it out of here alive. Dean swallows heavily at the thought, thinking of Sam and hoping like hell that he's okay, wondering if he's doing something stupid to save his brother yet again. He can't bear the thought, as badly as he wants out of here...

"Hello, Dean."

The voice, quiet but far too low and close, startles him out of his impending panic with a jolt.

"Jesus, Cas! I've told you not to do that!"

"My apologies."

The exchange painfully reminds Dean of simpler times, at least it terms of their relationship, when Castiel used to appear next to him without warning, and Dean had to do his best not to appear too pleased each and every time. There had always been something inherently reassuring about the angel's presence, and apparently at least part of his brain had never caught up with the rest of him when it came to his anger towards him. Dean sits up, rubbing the remaining traces of sleep out of his eyes. He's still so exhausted, but he knows they can't stay here forever. Remembering his injury, he lifts his shirt and examines the skin of his stomach and chest. The wound is clearly much improved but hasn't healed entirely. I'll live, he thinks dryly.

"So what's the plan?" he asks, and the question comes out a lot more demanding than he had intended.

Castiel looks around them, folding his wings back into invisibility far more gracefully than should be possible for an appendage so large.

"...I think our best option would be to hide out here, at least until my strength comes back. We can go deeper into the cave, recoup, re-evaluate, come up with a plan. I can't protect us...out there...in my current state."

Dean wants to point out that he's not exactly useless, but after the events of the day before he's not entirely sure that's true.

"So basically we don't have a plan," he states bluntly.

The angel heaves a sigh.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Dean. I'm doing my best but it's not like this is familiar territory."

Dean just glares at him for a moment, and Castiel doesn't back down. Tension crackles in the cold air, and Dean finally pulls himself to his feet, growling in defeat.

"Okay fine, let's get moving then."

* * *

Castiel is confused. He and Dean have been walking for hours now, barely speaking, weaving through the labyrinth of thick shadows, killing the occasional monster with the help of their unimpressive yet effective weapons. Luckily not many creatures lurk within the recess of the caves in Purgatory—most of them want to be where the action is, where they can hunt and maim and destroy. Castiel knows Dean well enough to know when he's in a bad mood and if his current dark expression and impatient stride are anything to go by he's in one hell of a bad one now, and it's getting worse by the minute. The angel would like to believe that it's just the circumstances, the weight of being in Purgatory, but he knows Dean and is all too familiar with his intense fear of being seen as vulnerable. Dean had shown more of himself last night than he had intended and his current attitude an attempt to keep his distance, to protect himself. And Castiel would be happy to give him that if they weren't _here_ and in danger with every move they made. So yes, he knows why the hunter is behaving the way he is...it fits neatly in his brain along with his other acquired Dean Winchester Knowledge.

What Castiel doesn't understand is his actions last night. He's been careful to keep his feelings under strict lock-up, sure that Dean would not return them, convinced that anything he felt between them in that way was all in his mind. But now...that soft kiss Dean had gifted him with...what did that mean? Is this what humans did? Castiel is suddenly exhausted, in every way possible. He's weakened from his exertions hours before, and the short sleep that had forced itself on him had been both foreign, and useless in refreshing him. He's tired of Dean's mood swings, tired of trying to meet Dean's approval and be wherever he's needed at a seconds notice, of always being expected to know exactly what to do. He's drained from the effort of trying to make Dean as happy as its possible for him to be, to protect him and keep him safe. But still he does it. Because Castiel loves him.

He's always felt a connection between them, a bond that grew wildly until the moment he'd had realised, with astounding clarity, that he had fallen in love. The knowledge had left him completely nonplussed. Unlike some of the garrison, Castiel had always felt emotions to some extent. But they were, for the most part, something observed but not experienced. Then his feelings for Dean had hit him with a powerful certainty that was entirely unlike any other in his ancient existence. It was emotion unmistakably different to his love for his kin or absent father, which had been so confusingly mixed up with his sense of obligation. Dean never asked Castiel to love him, nor had he expected it. That was one of the things Castiel had first loved about Dean: for all his bravery and his thicker outer shell, there was a desperately fragile soul within. And Castiel aches with his longing; his desire to cradle the soul close to him like he had when he had raised Dean from perdition. He wishes Dean would stop hiding from him.

Castiel pulls himself from his thoughts and looks around in the darkness, only to find that Dean appears to also be literally hiding from him. A poignant stab of fear strikes his heart as he scans the area wildly.

"Dean!" he calls out, his voice echoing in the black density.

His relief when Dean's gruff reply comes to him through the darkness is so staggering he almost falls over.

"Yeah yeah, I'm right here, you wanna keep your voice down?"

Castiel bristles at the hunter's irritable tone.

"I wouldn't have to raise my voice if you wouldn't go disappearing," he replies, matching Dean's tone.

Dean turns to face him with a scowl.

"If you've got something to say to me, Dean, just say it," Castiel challenges. "Or is the whole point that you're not saying it?"

Dean just glares for a moment, looking like Castiel has just slapped him.

"I'm trying my best here. But you're not making it easy."

Dean doesn't answer him, and even Castiel himself isn't sure if he's referring to the situation in Purgatory or the situation between them.

"Are we ever going to talk about what I did?"

Castiel's voice is quieter now, less certain. He's scared to ask the question, but he senses that their ability to ignore their past has pretty much reached it's capacity. Dean sighs deeply, running a hand through his hair.

"And what exactly would be the point in that, huh?"

"You're still angry with me," Castiel replies, and it's more a statement than a question.

Dean laughs humourlessly, turning away.

"What do you want me to say, Cas? That everything's back to the way it was because you saved me and you're trying to make things right? It doesn't fucking work that way, no matter how much we want it to. You betrayed me...you lied to me...you broke my brother's head like it was nothing...I can't just forget all that!"

An expression of pain and deep regret crosses Castiel's face but it's gone a second later, replaced by anger to rival Dean's own.

"If that's what this is really about then why did you kiss me, Dean?" he demands.

"You wanna know why?" Dean snaps back, equally as demanding. "Because even after that mountain of crap I still can't hate you—"

He's standing so close to Castiel now. So close and he's so angry, so broken. But Castiel doesn't back away, doesn't interrupt, he just let's Dean exhaust himself.

"—I couldn't even hate you at the time. Even after I defended you and wanted so bad for it to not be true. Because I trusted you and you threw it away like it was nothing. And I _wanted_ to hate you and punish you but I know now that it will never come close to how hard you're punishing yourself—"

He cuts himself off abruptly and an electric stare passes between them. Then suddenly Dean is pulling Castiel violently towards him by the lapels of his coat, and for a second Castiel thinks he's going to hit him, but instead he's puling Castiel into a brutal kiss and Castiel looses every thought in his head and every breath in his lungs. He freezes for a moment but then, determined not to waste the moment like the last time, he forces his body into action and moves his lips underneath the crush of Dean's. For a second it's more of a battle than a kiss but then Castiel parts his lips and Dean _groans_ as he gains entry to the angel's mouth. Castiel all but falls apart at the sensation of Dean's tongue furiously mingling with his own. Dean's hands tighten their grip on his coat and pull him impossibly closer and Castiel finds himself bringing his own hands up to grip at Dean's jacket, his shirt, anything he can reach. And then he's loosing himself, drinking in the hunter like his very life depends on it, and he knows then and there that he's addicted, that he never wants the feeling to end.

But suddenly Dean is pulling away and it's like a torrent of icy water has been tipped over Castiel's head. He sucks in a gulp of air, questioning eyes searching Dean's.

"Dean, what—"

"Cas, get out of the way!"

Then Dean is throwing himself at Castiel and it takes the angel another second to realise that they're being attacked. They both fall heavily to the hard floor of the cave and by the time Castiel turns around they're facing the largest Wendigo either of them has seen. Before Castiel knows what's happening, Dean is back on his feet and approaching the monster with the flame of his makeshift torch. Everything is happening far too fast. Castiel sees the Wendigo's next move before Dean does, and it's effortlessly throwing the hunter against the cave wall, where he crumples, completely trapped.

"Dean!" Castiel shouts helplessly, knowing there's no way he can get to him in time. He's moving as fast as he can but it's not enough—he's still weakened and moving agonisingly slowly—and his heart clenches with another stab of pure fear as the monster bares it's teeth with a growl that will torture Castiel forever as it lunges at his hunter...

But of all a sudden they're not alone. Something throws itself at the Wendigo from within the black depths of the cave, plunging the wood of Dean's flame through its chest and setting it alight. The creature screeches horribly in its death throes as Castiel and Dean watch it side by side, breathing heavily. The charred monster falls at their feet, leaving a thick air of silence in its wake and clearing the view so they're face to face with their mysterious saviour. Castiel senses Dean tense beside him, his mouth opening wordlessly, and suspects that he must look much the same. Because standing before him is his brother Gabriel.


End file.
